Judging by the yellow of the opposing traffic lights, our red one was about to change. I peered back up at the balcony for one last look, but it was vacant. Either she’d gone inside or . . . or she’d simply gone. I quit straining against the seat belt and rested my head on the back of the seat. The light switched to green and Harry took his foot off the brake and pressed it against the gas. We were the only vehicle in sight, and it was strange for me to hear the reverberations of my own car’s engine humming against the stone and stucco storefronts. Down at the end of the next street I saw something like a tower with a bell rearing up into the low skyline, and I thought with relief how close we were to the church. Yes, almost there.

Then my heart lurched up past my tongue.

“Harry! Oh my God, stop!”

He slammed both shoes down onto the brake and we left a short, smelly trail of black rubber on the pavement. But we did it—we stopped just before we hit her.

Yes, there she was.

The woman from the roof, standing in the middle of the road. I didn’t see the lantern; she must have put it down. Both hands were now holding her shawl against her chest. “What? What?” Harry sputtered, knuckles white around the ridges of the steering wheel. “What was that for?”

Oh no. My previous relief evaporated. “You don’t see her, then?”

“See who?” He was panting, legs still stretched taut against the floorboards, holding the brake and clutch down as far as they would go. “What are you talking about?”

I turned to him, waving my hand towards the road. “Right there—in the street! Oh, dear God—please tell me you can see her. Please don’t tell me—”

She smacked her hands against my window and I cut myself off with a shriek.

“Donde es—?” I caught that much, but the two years of high school Spanish I slept through hadn’t taught me enough to understand the rest.

The woman pounded her hands against the glass and shouted her question again.

“Drive, Harry! Get us out of here!” I begged, but I was nearly in his lap and he couldn’t reach the gearshift. I covered my eyes and shook my head. “Lady, I can’t help you. I’m so sorry—I can’t help you.”

“Who are you talking to? There’s no one there, Eden,” he insisted, but his voice was not steady. Whether or not he believed me, he shoved me back into my seat and obediently pulled the car forward, leaving the specter behind. I peeked into my side mirror and saw nothing, but when I turned around to look out the back she was still there, eyes wild and forlorn, standing at the intersection and watching us leave.

“What . . . Eden, what was that, just now? Are you all right?”

“Then you didn’t see her.”